Houston, We Have a Problem
by coffeeiv
Summary: A more tightly-wound Reba is all set to marry Parker until Brock brings Brian and Barbara Jean into her home to do a video documentary for a gossip magazine. Will Reba really marry someone who can't kiss? Who can save her?
1. Chapter 1

**Reba: Houston, We Have a Problem Chapter 1**

Reba sat on the sofa and opened yet another silver chafing dish from one of Parker's wealthy clients. Again, she got a knot in the pit of her stomach. As Parker 's wife, she would be expected to give elegant dinner parties for the social elite in Houston. That's what Parker did. He assured her that she would have professional help, but it still unnerved her.

She took a notecard with her initials on it out of the drawer in the coffee table and picked up a pen, writing the thank you note immediately so she wouldn't forget. Parker's friends were gracious and sweet to her as soon as she met them. She didn't know why she had always assumed rich people were snobby. These people opened their arms to her and accepted her immediately.

Parker was well-known in social circles. He was on the board of many non-profits in Houston and had given mounds of money to many different causes, both cultural and social.

Reba had been his dates to many exclusive fund-raisers and charity events in the past year. She was even being groomed for many of the positions on non-profit boards. Reba was a fast learner, she already had real estate connections with some of the people, she loved the idea of getting to help others, and she was always up for a challenge.

Plus, she loved Parker. The kissing had improved – somewhat – but that was not important to Reba. Parker was a truly nice guy. He was well-respected, humble, brilliant, witty, and he adored her. He had proposed at an intimate five-star restaurant on her birthday. They had set the date for the second Saturday in October to avoid the heat and humidity of Houston and to be able to take advantage of slightly cooler temps in Fiji, where they would be spending their month-long honeymoon.

Cheyenne came down the stairs and sat down at the dining room table where Reba had put all the presents.

"It's so weird that they're giving you presents," said Cheyenne, "When both have you have been married before. I mean, it's not like you're starting from scratch."

"Well," said Reba. "I sort of am. I have nothing in my kitchen now that I will need to entertain the Board of the Pediatric Aids Foundation, which I am scheduled to do two months from tomorrow night."

"Oh, I just remembered, the seamstress will have your dress ready at 2PM tomorrow," said Cheyenne.

"That's cutting it close. Yikes! Who picks up their wedding dress only 24 hours before their wedding? But no one else could get it done until next week, when we'll be on our honeymoon. If it's not exactly right, I'll be very angry."

"Hey, you're the one that dropped twenty pounds."

Reba shrugged. "Parker likes me skinny. I guess I'm just living on love."

"Nerves is more like it. You need to eat something. We can't have you passing out at the wedding."

Kyra trotted in full Gothic dress mode. "Cheyenne, you can't force someone to eat who is truly not hungry."

Cheyenne pursed her lips. "Kyra, I told you to go put on something more appropriate. We have important people dropping by all the time bringing presents. Sadly, none of them are for me, but I'm sure Mom will let me have some of them…"

She looked hopefully at Reba, who looked up at the ceiling as if to pray for patience, and then sighed. "Cheyenne, I don't care if someone thinks Kyra's dress is inappropriate. Of course it is. That's her point. She can wear her depressing duds all she wants at home, but she has to wear what I want at the wedding. We have a deal."

"You let her get away with everything," said Cheyenne. "When I was her age, I never wore inappropriate clothing."

Kyra shot back, "Right, you just got knocked up, got married, and brought your new husband and baby here for her to support. Give me a break. I'm going over to Dad's for a while. He and Jake are grilling steaks. I miss having meat around here."

"Oh, stop it with your complaining about Parker's vegetarian phase. He'll get over it," said Reba.

"Dad never went through a vegetarian phase in his whole life. It was great the way he used to paint Worchestershire sauce and lemon juice on the steaks before flipping them," said Kyra dreamily.

Cheyenne frowned. "Stop talking about Dad as if he were dead."

"He might as well be in this house," said Kyra.

"That would be fine with me," said Reba. "His behavior the past six months since I've been dating Parker has been like a two year old." She opened another present. It was shaped like a football, but was made out of glazed clay and had a stopper on the bottom. "What in heaven's name…?"

Kyra grabbed the card that was in the box. "It says, 'Genuine Alabama clay. Roll Tide! From Ted and Betty Guthrie.' Mom, it's a bank. They gave you a football bank." Kyra doubled over in laughter.

Cheyenne turned up her nose as if someone had stepped in dog poop. "Ugh! Who are these people?"

Reba closed her eyes and giggled. "These are probably past clients of Parker's who think he's their best friend. They weren't on the guest list. Probably just heard through the grapevine and this is a really fine gift to them."

Kyra grabbed the pen and one of the notecards. "Oh, Mom, please let me write the thank-you!"

Reba snatched them from her. "Not on your life, Little Missy. Now, these people are probably dirt poor and didn't get past the third grade. You are not going to take advantage of that. Go over to your dad's. If you had your way you'd have every one of Parker's friends livid with us and he would call off the wedding."

"See? She won't even say Dad's name," Kyra said to Cheyenne. Then she realized what Reba had said and said hopefully, "Do you really think he would call it off?"

Reba ignored her. "Is Van picking up Denver and Elizabeth from preschool?"

Cheyenne looked at her watch. "Yes, right about now. I had to call him four times to remind him."

"You never had to remind Dad about us," said Kyra.

"Kyra, go away," said Cheyenne. Kyra strolled to the door, "Hey, mom, isn't Parker supposed to be here by now?"

"Yeah, and he's never late anywhere. I'm starting to get worried," said Reba.

"Oh, he called an hour ago and said he'd meet us at the stables," said Kyra.

Reba glared at Kyra. "Thanks for the update," she said as she jumped up and ran upstairs to put on jeans and boots.

Cheyenne looked at Kyra. "I thought you were going, too."

"I am, I just don't like to appear to be serious about it. And the horses don't care what I wear, just so nothing sticks them. You going?"

Cheyenne wrinkled her nose. "Have I ever?"

Kyra picked up an apple from the basket of fruit on the kitchen counter. "Mom and Dad were getting along so well until Parker came along again. He messed it all up. Mom is so mean about Dad now."

Cheyenne shrugged. "Well, he said some ugly things about Parker. I would have been mean too."

"Did Mom really pown Dad?"

"Kyra, I do not care to discuss this with you."

"Okay, then why are she and Van also fighting?"

Cheyenne sighed. "I guess you might as well know. Van told Mom that he wasn't paying for our kids' education, that they would have to pay for it themselves. Mom thought that was his way of saying she had to pay for it. And then, he went on several business trips without me and she thought that was terrible. I mean, he didn't have affairs or anything, but it has been a long time since I've been out of Houston, and the company would have paid for it. But it's okay; I'm over it. Nobody's perfect."

Kyra jingled her keys. "But still, not inviting your own son-in-law to your wedding is pretty harsh. How do you deal with it?"

"They will work through it eventually, I guess. I decided it was best for me to just be her daughter and not worry about Van not being here. He doesn't want to come anyway. Parker isn't his favorite person in the world."

Kyra paused a minute in her jingling. "Since she's been dating Parker, Mom's sort of…hardened, hasn't she?"

Cheyenne thought. "Hmmm, well, you know Mom's always set really high standards for herself and expects others to do the same."

"Tell Mom I'll meet her at the stables. Hey, can I have some of those notecards?" asked Kyra.

Cheyenne opened the door and pushed her out. "Go away, Kyra!"

Jake sat under a tree outside a barn reading In Touch magazine with the latest starlet on the cover. Reba and Kyra saw him and, grabbing a Baby Ruth bar, Reba sneaked over to him with Kyra behind her.

She placed the candy bar near his ear and tore the paper gently.

The magazine lowered to reveal Jake, his eyes closed, with a blissful smile on his face. He turned his head toward the candy and saw his mom. "Oh, hi."

"Doing your homework I see," said Reba. "You know, the girls at your high school won't come near you if you expect them to look like that." She pointed at a young teenaged movie star.

"Don't be so sure," said Jake. "Kaylie Poole has been making eyes at me in Calculus for a week."

"You need to stop looking at her eyes and look at your work so you can get that C up to at least a B." She stood up. "Oh, who can that handsome guy over there be?"

Kyra glanced at Parker and said, "Who, that Michael J. Fox wannabe?"

"Watch it, Kyra. I have a hammer that could ruin your favorite amplifier."

Parker strolled up in brand-new jeans, brand-new expensive-looking ornate cowboy boots, and an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt. Kyra had to cover her mouth to hide her smirk at his obvious newbie look.

Reba gave him a hug and peck on the cheek. "Parker, you are cute as always but your clothes need to change."

"What do you mean? I just bought these specifically for riding horses!"

"Yep, that's what I mean. Gotta get rid of the new." She tackled him right then and rubbed dirt all over him.

"What the…?" Parker protested.

"I am not having my fiancé look like one of those headless mannequins at American Eagle. There."

They stood up and Parker brushed off. "Well, I guess…thanks." Then he saw Jake's magazine. "Hey, is there anything in here about our wedding?" He grabbed it from Jake.

Jake held out his hands as if to say, "What did he just do?"

Reba looked incredulous. "What? Our wedding in In Touch? Why would it be?"

Parker shrugged as he thumbed through it. "I have a few famous clients who know some people at that publisher. And with In Touch now vying for the local markets instead of just the nationals, I thought there might be a chance…"

"Heaven forbid," said Reba. "I do not want our special day trotted out for the paparazzi like so many pictures of Britney Spears' latest life mistake."

She took the magazine from Parker and opened it. "Look at this – 'Brad Sparks, husband of Houston mayor Helen Sparks, fixes her coffee in the breakfast nook of their vintage 1960s home.' How tacky can you get?" She threw the magazine down on the ground.

"But," said Parker, "What if I decided to go into politics?"

"Politics? You? Oh, my gosh, you'd become President," said Reba, kissing him again on the cheek and smoothing his hair. "You're so charismatic they wouldn't care what your agenda was."

"Just what we need," said Jake to Kyra. "The leader of the free world who spends more time on his hair than on foreign policy."

"No," said Parker to Reba, "I mean how would you handle the publicity that comes with that?"

"They could talk to us in public. Reporters would have no place in our house," said Reba. "At one time I thought that would be fun, to be a celebrity. Now I think it would be a nuisance."

Kyra picked up the magazine and handed it back to Jake, who mounted his horse. She mumbled, "If he became president, I'd move to Canada." She took a running jump and lept onto her mare from behind. Reba threw her leg over like an old pro and waited for Parker. He had much more difficulty but refused help.

Kyra said, "Maybe we should get him a pony."

Jake and Reba both said, "Shut up, Kyra."

The horse skittered around after Parker finally got up. "This horse seems nervous. Maybe I should ride another one," he said.

Kyra gave him a look. "She's not a go-cart. You can't just go choose another whenever you want."

"That's enough, Kyra," said Reba. Reba walked her horse over to Parker's and petted her. "Daisy, I'll give you some carrots when we're done, okay, girl?"

Reba and Parker walked on. Jake looked at Kyra. "Hoo, boy," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Houston, We Have a Problem Chapter 2**

Brian walked down the hall of In Cahootz magazine followed by a woman who would have been pretty had it not been for her big mouth.

"Whaddaya mean, you won't do it," she said, "I've got to pay my rent!"

"Barbara Jean, she dumped me! Why would I want to do an in-depth story about her marrying another man?" said Brian.

"Look here, Brian, you may have a stash of money hiding under your grandmother's clock. I have to work for a living. You need to suck it up and be a man. This could be your big break! Think of this not as paparazzi fodder, but in-depth analysis of the second marriage. Or even do the middle-class/upper-class angle. And I am Reba's best friend! Who better to do the spread?"

"So you obviously don't care about my feelings. Barbara Jean, you could be a serious reporter. You have the presence and the looks. You could could command six figures if you went to grad school in communications and-"

She cut him off. "Pie in the sky, Brian. If I had the money and time, I'd go back to school and be the next Katie Couric. And you should be directing cutting-edge documentaries, eh? But we're here. I had a major melt-down while doing the weather and you had a run-in at the Boston Globe for running a story about the editor's drunken daughter. We got these jobs because we were desperate and gossip mags love employees who know scandal personally. Face it, Brian. We already are the paparazzi. At least they eat regular meals."

Brian glared at her, and then knocked on a door that said "Melissa Chaswyck, Local Editor."

Mrs. Chaswyck stood as they entered. "Good morning Brian, Barbara Jean. Thank you for coming. I hear there's some trepidation about the wedding story."

Brian started right in. "Who in their right mind care about some oil baron marrying for the second time?"

"Plenty of people," said Mrs.Chaswyck. "He is the city's most eligible bachelor – worth millions. He had old family money which he was savvy enough grow. The public would love to see and hear all about who bagged this guy and what she has that they don't. His story is widely known. Hers is not. Reba Hart, average hard-working real estate agent nails the rich bachelor. People want to know what gives."

"It's voyeuristic," said Brian.

"It's what the public wants," said Mrs. Chaswyck.

"It pay the bills," said Barbara Jean. "Plus, I have the ultimate 'in.' Please, Brian. I haven't had a decent meal in three days."

"And yet your shoes are brand new," said Brian.

"First things first," said Barbara Jean. "I have my priorities straight. Henry, Beanie Babies, clothing, hair, makeup, food, and then sleep."

Brian rolled his eyes and turned back to Mrs. Chaswyck. "It would have to pay very well to convince me."

"Everyone has their price, Mr. Collins," said Mrs. Chaswyck. "One weekend. Six pages. Twenty thousand for each of you."

Brian's eyes popped. "Twenty thousand? I'd normally have to work six months for that."

"The sales would more than cover yours and Barbara Jean's fees."

Brian swallowed. Barbara Jean jumped around and tried not to squeal.

"I still think it's unethical," said Brian.

Barbara Jean pouted. "Then, Mrs.Chaswyck, find me another reporter, someone who isn't worried about whether it's ethical or not. I personally think Reba would love having her picture and story all over the gossip mags!"

A voice came from behind her through a door that had just opened. "Then you haven't talked with her in a while, Barbara Jean, because Reba has changed, and not for the better."

"Brock?" said Barbara Jean. "What are you doing at In Cahootz?"

Mrs. Chaswyck interrupted. "Dr. Hart has agreed to help convince whomever needs convincing that this story needs to be written."

Barbara Jean frowned. "Wait just a minute. What's in it for you, Brock? I don't trust this setup. Do you mean to hurt Reba?"

Brock was looking at Mrs. Chaswyck, not Barbara Jean when he said, "Trust me, Barbara Jean; there is a good reason. And it will actually prevent Reba getting hurt."

Barbara Jean was incensed. "Alright, out with it, Brock. Who's trying to hurt Reba?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," said Brock.

"I can keep a secret," said Barbara Jean, grinning wildly.

"Brock smirked. "So said John Haldeman. Look, Barbara Jean, if I tell you, Reba will get hurt immediately. Do you want to be the cause of Reba's pain?"

"No, no, no," said Barbara Jean, stepping away and wringing her hands.

"Then let me handle it," he said.

Brian threw up his hands. "Intrigue and the ex-husband. Another two reasons to avoid this story like The Plague."

Brock walked over to Brian. "How about free dental for the next twenty years?"

Brian's eyes rounded once again, but bigger. He stared at Brock for a moment. "You're kidding, right? Free dental? For twenty years?"

"He's my ex," said Barbara Jean to Mrs. Chaswyck, emphatically pointing her finger at herself. "But he was Reba's ex first because he got me pregnant in his xray room," she blurted. "And he's a dentist!"

Mrs. Chaswyck looked at Brock, who shrugged. Then, she smiled briefly. "Already I see multiples angles."

Brian shook Brock's hand. "I'm in. For free dental, I'd snoop on the Pope."


	3. Chapter 3

**Reba – Houston Chapter 3**

When her doorbell rang, Reba opened her front door to find Brock staring at her, so she closed it immediately. The doorbell rang repeatedly. When she opened it this time, Barbara Jean was standing there waving her hand in Reba's face. Reba closed it again.

There came a polite knock. Reba looked puzzled. She opened the door to find Brian.

"Good morning, Reba," said Brian.

Reba turned white and closed the door again. "Sweet Jesus," she said, "If I open it again, will it be The Grim Reaper?"

Cheyenne walked in the den. "Mom, let them in! That is just rude!" She opened the door.

"Hey, Dad, Barbara Jean, and…" she opened her eyes wide and looked warily. "…Brian?"

Brian winced and scratched his forehead, then looked at Brock.

"I guess you wonder why we're all here," he said, chuckling unnecessarily.

Reba said, "Yeah, I really want to get your take on this crew right here, two days before my wedding."

Brock chuckled again. "It's the funniest thing, Reba. You won't believe."

Reba was stone-faced. "Try me." She crossed her arms.

Cheyenne smiled, trying to lighten the mood. Perhaps her mom wouldn't blow up like she'd been doing a lot recently.

Brock opened his mouth, but Barbara Jean plowed in with her verbal diarrhea. "Brian and I work for In Cahootz magazine and we're doing a documentary for their website on your wedding to Parker and we're taking the angle of the rich bachelor and the cute little nobody and really Brian didn't want to do it because he knew it would be awkward but he really needs a couple of crowns and Brock said he'd do them free and oh my gosh what they're paying us I can send Henry to a better therapist that's not on the HMO and I know you hate publicity but it could really be fun if you just relax and get into it because you are very photogenic and I've turned into a good photographer since I left the TV station so if you could just this for us then we'll go away and not bother you after the wedding." Barbara Jean immediately clapped both hands over her mouth.

Reba's expression didn't change. She glanced at Brian. "Did she leave anything out?" He shook his head mutely.

Cheyenne's smile grew wider. "In Cahootz? For real? Omigosh, Mom, you're a celebrity!"

Reba immediately grabbed Brock by the collar. "What do you mean bringing reporters into my home?"

"Reba, I can't explain right now. You'll just have to trust me," said Brock.

"Like fun I'll trust you," she said.

"Let's take this in the kitchen," said Brock.

"Brock, have you never noticed how these little flimsy shutters on the kitchen window are not soundproof? We'll go in the backyard."

They closed the back door behind them.

Brian wandered into the dining area where the nicest of the gifts were on display. He picked up a silver pickle fork. "What the hell is this?"

Cheyenne said, "It's a …um…pork puller. You know how you get pulled pork for barbeque? Well, that's what it's pulled with."

"Silver? People eat barbeque with the good silver?"

"Parker does," said Kyra, walking down the stairs. "And it's a pickle fork, Cheyenne."

Barbara Jean said, "Oh yeah, like we're going to believe people buy special forks just for pickles."

Kyra shrugged. "Hey, Brian," she said, "What brings you here? A desire for tragic irony or just basic masochistic tendencies?"

Barbara Jean grabbed Kyra's arm. "Kyra, apologize this minute. You do not speak to another person like that. Besides, Brian is just trying to do his job. He didn't ask to come here."

"Thank you, Barbara Jean," said Brian. "And yes, Kyra, it is just my job. Sometimes in life you have to do stupid things to eat and pay rent."

"You're right, Brian; I'm sorry," said Kyra. "And somehow, that sort of seems like exactly what Mom is doing with Parker…"

"Shut up, Kyra," said Cheyenne and Barbara Jean together.

Out in the backyard, Brock revealed his motives. "Mrs. Chaswyck has a picture of Van taken by one of his buddies in Las Vegas. It was obviously Photoshopped, but Cheyenne wouldn't care. Just the fact that he didn't stop it from going viral on the real estate chat rooms would be enough to have her file for divorce."

Brock held up the picture. It looked like a stripper with nothing on but pasties and a g-string was giving Van a lap dance in a bar with all his buddies egging her on. And it looked like Van was enjoying it.

Reba looked disgusted, but said, "He could have been sitting down enjoying a beer and they took that."

Brock said, "Really really enjoying a beer."

Reba popped his shoulder. "Hey, Van is a passionate boy. Everything he does is to the Nth degree. His eyes roll back in his head for blue Jello, Brock. Van would not do this."

"I know that. Everyone in our family knows that. But the wider Houston area doesn't and it makes for titillating copy as a companion piece – or rather, a replacement piece- for the wedding story."

"So this is what she's holding over your heads," said Reba.

Brock sighed. Reba looked at him. "Well,then," she said, and walked back into the house.

She walked up to Brian and Barbara Jean and said, "Okay, what's the plan? I'm on board."

Brian looked surprised. Barbara Jean squealed.

"It'll be just like old times," she said, hugging Reba. "Like Sondheim and Bernstein. Like Rogers and Hammerstein. Like Big and Rich. Like Flatt and Scruggs."

Reba struggled to get out of the death grip. "Like Lucy and Ethel," she said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Reba – Houston,We Have a Problem Chapter 4**

Reba extricated herself from Barbara Jean's bear hug. "Let's just get this over with. I guess I'd better change into something besides sweatpants and an Allman Brothers t-shirt." She went upstairs.

"I guess I'm all set," said Cheyenne, checking herself out in the mirror.

""That's because your first thought every morning is 'What would I wear if the paparazzi came calling today?'" said Kyra.

"Kyra," said Brock, "Aren't you going to change?"

"Certainly n-" she began. Then a devious plan developed in her mind. "You're right, Dad. This is totally inappropriate. Cheyenne, can I raid your closet?"

Cheyenne looked confused, then wary. "What are you planning, Kyra?"

"Just trying to make myself a little less angry-looking," said Kyra.

"Okay," said Cheyenne, shrugging. "Just don't wear my new Jimmy Choos I got at the Thrift Store. Some igmo didn't know what they were and I snagged 'em!"

Brock was shocked. "You shop at thrift stores?"

"I have children, Dad. I still like clothes, but our budget doesn't allow for designer stuff. It's amazing what you can find after the Houston Junior League women do their spring cleaning."

Brock smiled. "I'm proud of you, Honey. You're really growing up."

"But can I have some money for a matching bag?"

Brock rolled his eyes. "Not happening."

Brian said, "By the way, where is Van?"

Cheyenne looked at Brock, panicking briefly. "Oh, he'll be over sometime today. He has a couple of showings and meetings and stuff."

Brock broke in. "Brian and Barbara Jean, here are the rules: you don't go upstairs unless Reba says it's okay. And when she's ready to turn in for the night, you leave and don't come back until the next morning after 8 AM."

Barbara Jean gave a pouty stomp. "I thought I was going to sleep over."

Brock pointed in her face. "No, Barbara Jean."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"I'm telling you what's best for Reba, not you," he said, and then he left.

Brian looked around. "Nothing has changed here. Maybe a couple of new pictures."

Barbara Jean was still fuming.

Brian said, "Can you start taking pictures of the house, maybe?"

Barbara Jean heaved an angry sigh and pulled out her camera. "The light in here sucks," she said, snapping a few. "I'm gonna need my other lenses and filters, too. They're in the car." She went out the front door.

Brian pulled out his digital recorder and spoke into it. "Soon Reba Hart will trade this comfortable, easy style of living for the rigorous demands of full-time philanthropy." He walked in the kitchen and noticed the door to the laundry room was open. He peeked inside. The floor was covered with dirty clothes and the counter was filled with stacks of clean towels, bed linens, and shirts. He spoke into the recorder again. "She will trade doing her family's laundry for overseeing a large housekeeping staff who will cook and clean for her."

He walked into the kitchen and saw an open cookbook out on the island. It was spattered with dried food, obviously used often. He thumbed through it and found several index cards stuck in it. One he pulled out said, "Mama Nell's Pot Roast."

He spoke into the recorder again. "She will be trading her grandmother's pot roast for her husband's filet mignon."

"How's this, Brian?"

He spun around to see Kyra dressed in a short, flouncy skirt with vibrant colors, a skimpy little lilac tank with "Princess" in glitter on the front, her hair in braids, high-heeled strappy pink sandals, and her makeup all pink.

Brian winced. "Ugh."

"Good," said Kyra. "That's exactly the look I was going for."

"Kyra, you know your mother really doesn't want to do this."

"Yes. And I know Dad is trying to protect our family from something, probably having to do with that Photoshopped picture of Van I saw on the Internet. As if Van would do anything like that. He's still so in love with Cheyenne it's disgusting. I mean, ten years together? That's just not normal."

Cheyenne walked in. "How did you know about that fake picture?"

She shrugged. "I googled Van. I do it every month or so just to see if that hilarious video I took of him giving himself a pep talk is still circulating. It is."

Brian looked confused. "So if you know about the picture, why are we here? You're obviously not divorcing him over it. You know it's fake."

"I just don't want it all over the media. And Van doesn't know I know because right now, the unspoken fear of me keeps him home a bit more. I need him here with me, Elizabeth, and Denver."

Kyra looked at Cheyenne and smiled. "So I really have taught you something. Wow. You know, you never know what seeds you plant until years later when they start to grow."

The front doorbell rang and Kyra ran to get it. She opened to reveal Parker in a full business, suit. "Hello, Kyra. My, you're looking…girly today."

Cheyenne and Brian walked in, and Barbara Jean came through the kitchen with her filters.

"Hey,Parker," said Kyra without enthusiasm and stepped aside to let him in.

Cheyenne said, "Parker, this is Brian. He and Barbara Jean are doing a documentary on your wedding for In Cahootz magazine's website."

Parker beamed. "Wonderful! Glad to have you! Anytime you want pictures, just do it. Do I need to sign releases yet?"

"We'll do that in a minute," said Barbara Jean. "I wanted to get you coming in the door." She picked up her video camera from the coffee table where she had dumped all her paraphernalia.

Parker went back out the door and Kyra prepared to open it. Just as Parker walked through the door, Reba came downstairs in a beautiful pumpkin-colored jersey dress with a tight bodice and a flared skirt. Her hair was up, her jewelry was modest but pretty, and she wore a kitten heel slide. She looked like the perfect hostess.

Barbara Jean caught Parker's look. "Perfect!" she said. "Now go give her a kiss."

Parker walked over to Reba, put his hand behind her neck, and kissed her lightly on the lips. Reba smiled at him first, then the camera. They hugged cheek to cheek, and then Barbara Jean said, "And cut!"

Reba closed her eyes, saying a little prayer for strength. "Hi, Parker. I'm so glad you're here. Are you sure you don't mind this?"

"I think it's terrific!" said Parker. "It is a little weird that it's a former boyfriend and Barbara Jean, but they'll be more gentle and honest, don't you think? Better than strangers. They know the real Reba. And that's what they need to showcase."

Brian smirked. "True love, huh?"

Reba narrowed her eyes at Brian. "Yes, it's the real thing."

The kitchen door slammed and Jake walked in the room. "What's up with all Mom's old boyfriends…" He looked around."…Except Dr. Morgan?"

Kyra rummaged around in the CD cabinet and brought out a candy bar. She took it to Jake, who immediately opened it and began munching contentedly. Reba smiled at her. Kyra gave her a wink.

Barbara Jean put her arm around Jake. "Brian and I are gonna make you a celebrity, Jake. We both work at In Cahootz magazine and you will be a star on our website next week!"

"Cool," said Jake, still eating.

Reba headed for the kitchen. "How many do we have here?" she said, while walking.

"Six, I think," said Barbara Jean, snapping still photos.

The doorbell rang. Kyra opened it. It was Brock. "Dad?" she said.

He whispered. "I need to keep an eye on Barbara Jean and Brian. I know they care sort of about your mom, but you know how Barbara Jean is about publicity, and Brian might be trying to use this as his step up to the national magazine. I'm not sure our family stands to benefit a lot."

"But what can you do?"

"Remind them that they could both lose their jobs if I tell what I know about them."

Kyra raised her eyebrows. "You know, normally, I would find this intriguing but since it's Mom, it just kinda makes me ill."

Parker eyed Brock. "What are you doing here?"

"Protecting my family," said Brock. "And until Saturday, it is still my family."

Cheyenne yelled to her mom as she walked toward the kitchen. "Another on the table Mom, Dad's here."

From the kitchen, if one listened closely, which no one was doing due to the eye-to-eye stand-off between Brock and Parker, one could hear Reba say, "Cra-a-a-p!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Reba - Houston Chapter 5**

Reba took a roast out of the oven and checked the steaming pots on the stove. She turned all the eyes off and then peeked at the bread in the toaster oven.

"Cheyenne, please don't let the bread burn. It only needs about three more minutes. Add another place setting for your dad. I need to go see why the heck he's over here."

She walked quickly into the den and entwined her arm into Parker's, looking at Brock. "Why are you here, Brock?"

"Just protecting my interests, Reba. Reporters have a tendency to highlight the negative and I don't want our children to be casualties."

"And you don't think I will take care of my kids?"

"Reba, you're the bride. You can't do everything, no matter how much you may want to. With all that's going on, it's just too easy for…"

Brian stepped forward. "For what, Brock? Do you think I'm going to bribe Jake to show me his Playboy magazines and let Barbara Jean tape it?"

Barbara Jean put her hands on her hips. "Yeah, what do you think we're going to do, Brock? You think I would hurt your kids? I practically raised Kyra."

Reba rolled her eyes.

Brock held up his hands. "I'm just saying, with the media, it's best if both parents are present in case one's not paying attention."

"Fine," said Reba.

"When's lunch?" said Jake.

"Right now," said Reba, and led Parker to the head of the dining room table, where Brock was about to sit down.

"Move it, buster," said Reba.

"Oh, 'scuse me, Parker, buddy; just habit," said Brock.

"You can sit in the kitchen," said Reba, "With Jake and Kyra. There's not enough room for everyone around this table. Jake, help me get the dishes onto the table. Kyra, you too."

As the rest sat down, Reba, Kyra, and Jake went into the kitchen. Kyra was first out with the corn, and when she came out, she saw Van, who had just opened the front door without knocking. Her eyes widened and she turned around to give Reba a "heads up."

There was the sound of greeting in the den and Reba made to go. "Who else in the name of barbeque and beans is going to show up today?"

Kyra stopped her. "Mom, it's Van."

Reba stopped and her mouth dropped open. Then she closed it and scowled. "Well, I'll just have to swallow my pride and pretend for Brian and Barbara Jean. Put another place setting in here. At least I won't have to look at his face while I'm trying to eat."

Kyra set the corn back on the stove and set the place while Reba pasted a smile on her face and went into the den with the green beans.

"Van! How nice of you to come! We have run out of places in here, but Kyra has you with Brock, her, and Jake in the kitchen. And remember when you sit in the kitchen you get to get seconds right off the stove!"

Van smiled uneasily. Cheyenne got up from her place and took him aside near the sofa.

"What gives? I thought you two were at war," she said.

"I thought if we couldn't bury the hatchet, at least I could stick it halfway in the ground."

"Van, how clever!" They kissed.

"Ahem!" said Reba. "Lunch is served."

After lunch, Van and Cheyenne went to pick the kids up from playdates, Brock had a golf game, Barbara Jean had a hair appointment, Jake was playing ball with buddies in the neighborhood, and Kyra had band practice. That left Reba at home with all the dirty dishes. Brian offered to help.

"You always were a sweet one," said Reba as she put on her yellow rubber gloves and an apron. "I saw one of your documentaries last year on PBS. Whenever did you go to Bhutan?"

"It was '06," said Brian. "A fluke, really. The guy who was supposed to go got some jungle disease in the Brazilian jungle and wasn't expected to recover for months. I'm on a list of substitutes."

"Lucky," said Reba. "I would never have thought that I could be fascinated by a documentary, but I was riveted. You presented that culture in such a way that at the end, I wanted to go live there. And they have only had TV for three years!"

"Well, Bhutan is the happiest country in Asia."

They washed for a few moments. "So, how's the late-night ad business?" asked Reba.

"As always, it pays the bills."

"Your kids?"

"Great. Got one graduating high school in the spring."

"Send me an invitation. I love giving gift certificates. Those are the nicest thank-you notes I get. The kids are so glad for someone to give something besides lap desks and Cross pens."

They finished the dishes. Reba had thought she'd need a nap, but somehow now she didn't. Brian was as engaging and easy to be with as always. They slipped into a refreshing conversation about kids, work, books, movies, Houston's pothole problem, MySpace and Facebook, the economy, retirement or if they were going to be able to do it, and Ben and Jerry's ice cream.

They went back into the den and sat on the sofa with soft drinks.

"Whew; it's hot for October," said Reba.

"Well, it_ is _Houston," said Brian.

She looked at him for a while. "You know, Parker has a video studio in Dallas. I'm sure he'd be glad to lend you the editing machines whenever you need them." Reba smiled, excited she had thought of it.

Brian blinked. "That's very kind of you. Don't you think you should ask him first?"

"Oh, he rarely uses it. Mainly they're for documenting inspections at the wells. Brian, it could save you so much money and then perhaps you'd actually be able to have a portfolio with all those wonderful films you've been wanting to make for years but haven't had the means."

Brian looked down and took a deep breath.

"What's the matter?" asked Reba.

"Well, I'm just not sure I should enter into a patron-artist relationship without a lawyer present."

Reba's face fell. "Oh…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to act like I felt sorry for you. I don't. I simply believe that a gift like yours needs to be shared with the world. I just wanted to remove a stumbling block."

"Well, it just puts me in an awkward position as far as the subjects I choose. What if I were to do a film about something to which you objected?"

"I wouldn't bother you."

"What if I did a documentary glamorizing the lives of Mexican drug lords?"

"You wouldn't do that," said Reba.

"For the right kind of money, I might," said Brian.

"Then you've changed," said Reba.

"No, _you_ have."

Brock walked in. Brian stood up to shake his hand. "Cozy," Brock said, looking at them on the sofa.

Reba closed her eyes to pray for patience and then said, "We are discussing art patronage," said Reba.

"Huh?" said Brock. He kept standing. So did Brian. So Reba stood as well.

"Art," said Reba. "You know, when someone creates something inspired by life to make other people look at the subject in a different light?"

"I know what art is, Reba," said Brock.

"Really? Do you own a piece of art?"

"I have that print over the table in the condo."

"That's from a Starving Artist sale at the Ramada Inn. Mass produced by Indonesian children at ten cents apiece. It doesn't count."

"So thirty minutes with Brian and you're an art snob? I'll bet Brian doesn't have original Picassos in his house, do you, Brian?"

"The only thing hanging on my walls is latex paint," said Brian.

"See there, Red? Even the artist himself doesn't support his own livelihood. It's too expensive. Art requires money and lots of it. And the only reason people want art in their houses is so that they can show everyone how wealthy they are."

Reba shook her head. "You are the snob. Some people actually enjoy having their ideas challenged. Some people like to look at or listen to something that makes them think. And if it's in your home, you are challenged every day to be a better person. But then, you don't like that kind of pressure, do you, Brock?"

"Always the judge, never the judged; that's Reba."

Brian could tell this discussion was about to turn into a full-blown argument, so he backed slowly out of the room.

"Oh, no, Brian, please don't leave me in here with my ex," said Reba.

"Yes, I might strangle her. Or make advances."

Reba made a face. "That's sickening."

"You know, Reba, you look stunning. Isn't it amazing, Brian, what money can do for a women's looks? She's worked hard all her life, done everything for herself, and finally she finds a man who can gives her everything she's ever wanted – a housekeeper and a cook."

Reba smiled defiantly. "Yes; it's great. I'm less stressed than I've ever been in my life."

"Really?" said Brock. "You seem very high strung to me and you've lost –" he looked her over. "Twenty pounds. Am I right?" He looked to gauge Reba's reaction.

She narrowed her eyes.

"I thought so. I've still got the touch," said Brock, smiling.

"Brock, why are you here? The kids are gone. You are not needed," said Reba.

"But that's just it. You never needed me. You are like a fortress. When ever anyone tries to get close, you act like they're trying to lay siege. And if anyone makes so much as one mistake, that's it. They are never, ever allowed back in. If you don't remember, Brian, she can't stand other people's faults."

"So now you're blaming your affair with Barbara Jean on _me_?"

"Take it however you want to take it."

"I can't believe we're discussing this now, of all times," said Reba.

"You're about to marry someone who is just as unforgiving of others' faults as you are. You need to prepare yourself. And trust me, Brian, Parker won't put up with her demands like you and I did."

"Parker loves me. He agrees with my high standards. We have exactly the same ideas about right, wrong, and how to treat other people," said Reba, crossing her arms.

"How convenient," said Brock. "But I hope he never sees you after six shots of tequila."

"I told you I don't remember drinking six shots of tequila that night," said Reba.

"I didn't make it up. If you'll remember, Terry saw it, too. We always had such a great time discussing how you stood on the front porch of the empty bar at 4AM singing "For My Broken Heart" and peeling off one layer of clothing after another until you were buck naked."

Reba panicked until she saw Brian had sneaked off. "I think you both made that up so you'd have something to blackmail me with."

"Oh, there's no way I could ever make that up. It was completely unexpected. But it was a mistake, and you can't allow yourself to make a mistake. So you drew a blank, thanks to your accomplice, Cuervo Gold."

"Again I will ask you, why are you here?"

"I can't make out this marriage between you and Parker. You don't go together at all."

"Oh yes, we do. He is hard working, honest, brilliant, transparent, and he loves me and shows it constantly."

"Brilliant? In business, maybe, but I can't see him as brilliant in bed."

"As if that were the most important thing in a relationship," said Reba with contempt.

"It's not everything, but it's definitely something. And it was enough to put you off him twenty-odd years ago," said Brock.

"You have no idea what our relationship is like. You don't even know Parker that well."

"What's there to know? He's all the things you said, and that's pretty much it. Is he fun?"

"Fun?"

"It just…I don't know…embarrasses me for my ex-wife to marry a nerd."

"He's my nerd and I love him."

"I don't think so. I think he's the rebound from me."

"Brock, we were done eight years ago. Get over it. I have."

"Nope, you aren't over it. You'll never be over us until you realize that most people aren't perfect, you included. And until you accept that fact, you can't even be a good wife to Parker. He has faults, too, Reba.Will you find them and divorce him, too?"

"Get out," said Reba.

Brock left. Reba suddenly felt very tired and started upstairs for a nap.

But then Parker came in.

"I suppose I could object to your ex being here with you unchaperoned," he said.

"Why? Think I might resort to homicide?"

Parker kissed her on the cheek. "You wouldn't hurt a fly. You come on tough, but I know you'd never really hurt him. You're too sweet. You have a soft heart. By the way, he gave me this as he was leaving." Parker held up a necklace. "This is his idea of a wedding present. It looks like a dog tag and keys to a locker."

Reba held the necklace by the clasp and let it dangle, then put her hand behind the tag and key. "It's the key and tag to my locker at the old bar we owned with Terry," she said. "It was a really good bar," she said, wistfully.

"That's the most preposterous wedding gift I've ever…Well, never mind. It's Brock's last dig. Pitiful, really, how he wants you to feel sorry for him."

"I really don't think it's that. Thankfully, he's beyond that now. Whatever he meant, I let it remind me that my cares are over and I'll never have to scrub vomit off a floor ever again in my life."

Parker grabbed her into a hug. "Our marriage will represent everything that's right with the world, not all the stuff that goes rotten."

"But my family is not exactly perfect."

"You tried, though," said Parker. "And you still try to mold them into the human beings you know they can become if they would just put forth a little effort."

Reba frowned a little, but didn't say anything. "Parker, what would you say to a night of bar-hopping?"

Parker frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Just let's go out this one last night before we take on being the example for the rest of the corporate world. Let's go have a few drinks and dance. You know,have fun. We haven't done anything fun in the longest time."

"Yes we have! Just last week we went to that benefit for Ovarian Cancer research and Brian Regan the comedian had us rolling in the aisles."

"That was funny, but I was in an evening gown and had five thousand dollars worth of your mother's jewelry on my ears and neck. I couldn't relax."

"I won't take you to a bar, Reba. You deserve better than a bar. You deserve a wine café, followed by a restaurant with at least four stars." He hugged her again. "How could anyone ever expect you to cook and clean for them? You are meant to be cared for, nurtured, and put up on a pedestal to worship."

"But I don't want to be worshiped, Parker; I want to be loved."

"Well, of course I love you, Reba. What makes you think I don't?"

"I know you love me, Parker. I just…"

"What?"

"Oh, never mind, dear, I need to dress for the party tonight. Jake would be mad if we didn't come in full ninja gear."

Parker sighed and shook his head. "I don't get it. Why would you let your youngest child throw a costume party the night before your wedding?"

"I've told you, Parker, nothing interrupts Halloween partying for my family. Not even a wedding."

"That'll change," said Parker, leaving.

Reba frowned and went upstairs. "Don't be so sure," she mumbled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Reba – Houston Chapter 6**

Reba came down the stairs in a black jumpsuit, a ninja mask and headscarf, and holding plastic nun(m?)chucks and throwing stars. She looked at her hands and said, "So that's why there aren't many female ninjas: nowhere to put a purse!"

Van and Cheyenne came in the front door with Denver and Elizabeth. Elizabeth ran to Reba. "Grammie, you look funny!"

Reba picked her up. "Well, you need to go upstairs and get on your costume because Jake's party starts in an hour at Barbara Jean's!"

Elizabeth clapped her hands and ran upstairs.

Cheyenne smiled. "She's already worn her Hannah Montana outfit every day this week. I'm not sure if it'll make it through the party without ripping."

Van, who was holding Denver, panicked. "There's not enough material on that outfit as it is, Cheyenne. Make her wear something else."

"Van. She's wearing a t-shirt underneath the top. There's nothing showy about it."

"I just don't want her getting the idea that she can show too much skin and it's okay. If she does it at age five, then when she's fifteen, she'll think it's cute and some guy will think she means 'Come and get me,' and then I'll have to go to prison for killing him."

Cheyenne sighed.

Reba took Denver from Van and pulled her mask down so Denver could see her face. He had dark hair like Van and he gave Reba a kiss. "What a sweet boy," said Reba. Then to Van she said, "You've got a lot of nerve telling Cheyenne how to raise your children when you're not here half the time."

Van looked hurt. "You know why I travel. We've been through all this. I can make more money and sock it away for later."

"Why, so you can buy season tickets to Astros games and Cheyenne can buy designer jeans? That's not a good enough reason. And you have the nerve to go on these great trips and leave your wife here with the kids while you party with who knows who."

Cheyenne frowned. "Mom, I know you're used to having to tell us what to do because we made mistakes in the past. But you can stop now."

"Habit," said Reba, staring right at Van. "I have a life, too, and I don't plan for you all to move back in with me and Parker when you go through all your money."

Van held his hands out and looked like her comment had come out of left field. "Where are you getting all these crazy ideas?"

"From your past, Van," said Reba.

"Mom, what Van and I do with our money is not your business."

"It is if it affects me," said Reba. "I will not let you think that just because Parker is well off, you guys can just blow everything and think it will be alright. And no, Parker and I are not paying for Denver and Elizabeth's college educations. We'd love to help as a gift, but I will not have either of you shirking your responsibility to your children. Those college funds should have been started when you were pregnant."

"Are you insane?" said Van. "I think the pressure of marrying Parker has driven you bonkers. We have been responsible people now for, like, three years."

"But you could always backslide," said Reba.

"Cheyenne is right. Our money and our children are our business. If we screw up, we know it and we deal with it. We don't come crying to Reba anymore," said Van. "But knowing we could count on your support helps us stay strong. I'm not talking about money. When we made mistakes in the past, you helped us. You made it clear it was wrong, but you still loved us."

Cheyenne looked at Reba. "That's right. We depended more on that care and concern and love than we did the money. But now, since you've been mad at Van for working hard…"

Reba added, "And leaving you here and refusing to pay for college…"

"Which is not true," said Van. "But even if I wasn't kidding, which I was but you took it seriously, it's still none of your beeswax."

Cheyenne continued, "Now that you're mad at Van and you compare him to perfect Parker, I never see you. The kids see you, but I don't. It's like you built this wall and nobody can come on the other side except little kids and people you think are perfect. You have a little Perfect People Club which basically means you, Parker, Elizabeth, Denver, and sometimes Kyra and Jake. Van and I are left out."

Suddenly Van got really angry. "You have a club and you didn't invite us?" Then he got a sad, puppy-dog look on his face. "Do you have a clubhouse and a secret handshake and a password and everything?"

"Shut up, Van," said Cheyenne. "Mom, I knew you wanted to dress the kids for the party, but I think we'd better do it over at our house. Van and I need to get ready anyway." She went upstairs to get the kids.

"We don't want to be in your stupid club," said Van as Cheyenne came down with Elizabeth and Denver, carrying their costumes.

Cheyenne sighed. "Van, it was a metaphor. There is no club."

Van said as they were walking out, "I wondered why she hadn't put a sign on the clubhouse out back…"

Reba walked into the kitchen and grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet. Then she opened another cabinet and got out a bottle of wine.

"What is the matter with everybody today?" she said to herself, and poured herself a glass. She drank the whole thing standing there in the kitchen. She poured herself another and did the same. Then she put the glass in the dishwasher and took the bottle and walked out the door to walk the few steps to Barbara Jean's house.

Jake was in his element at Barbara Jean's house. He had turned the living room into a dungeon with spider webs and moss growing from the ceiling, all the furniture draped to look like rocks, and chains hung on the walls. Jake commanded a computer terminal and a mike as the DJ for the night. He was dressed as Heath Ledger's Joker from "Dark Knight."

Some people were dancing, some were playing games, and there was plenty of beer and wine. Denver and Elizabeth were at Van and Cheyenne's with a sitter.

Parker and Reba were dancing at the edge of the crowd, Reba in her ninja costume and Parker as a dragon. Reba was smiling, obviously drunk. Parker looked irritated. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"Not a clue," said Reba.

"It's after two," said Parker, adjusting his tail out of the way of a particularly enthusiastic dancer.

"Hmm…if we were in Hong Kong, we'd already be married."

Parker smiled. "Yeah. We need to go. Big day today."

"But if we were in Hawai'i, we'd just be starting the party. Let's go to Hawai'i, Parker."

"Fiji," said Parker. "But that's tomorrow. I'll get your sweater so I can walk you home."

Brian, dressed as a scarecrow, walked over and Parker stayed a little longer. "May I cut in?" said Brian.

"We are about to leave," said Parker.

"Awww," said Brian, obviously drunk as well. Parker walked away to get Reba's sweater.

Brian put his arm around Reba's waist to dance the slow song Jake had begun to spin. "Hey, there," said Brian, grinning at Reba.

Reba grinned right back. "Hey yourself."

"You look stunning," he said.

"I feel stunning," said Reba.

"How about another drink? Or would Parker be upset?"

Reba pooched out her lower lip. "I have to leave the party. I'm getting married today."

"Why so down? I thought you liked Parker," said Brian.

"Everybody likes Parker," said Reba, suddenly smiling.

"Everybody likes Parker," Brian parroted. He spun her around. "Everybody except Dr. Brock Hart."

Reba's smile faded. "C'mon, Brian, we need another glass of wine."

Cheyenne came into the room from the kitchen in her French maid uniform.

"Cheyenne, I thought you left hours ago," said Reba. "What about the sitter?"

"Oh, we hired her until 8 AM. I thought I wouldn't need her that long, but Van insisted. Somehow he knew I'd have such a good time that I wouldn't want to leave."

Reba put her arm through Cheyenne's. "Come into the kitchen with us and have a drink,"

Parker walked up with her sweater. "No, you've had plenty, Reba."

"Parker, you know wine never makes me drunk," said Reba.

"You've never drunk a whole quart by yourself before," said Parker, taking off his dragon head.

"But everyone is having such a marvelous time, I don't want to go, Parker. Dance with me."

"We have to go, Reba, or we will be too exhausted and hung over for the wedding."

"Parker, you need to relax and have fun. You work too hard and too long. Now come on and dance another or I'll dance with Brian, here," said Reba.

Parker glared at Brian. "I don't think so. Brian has been dancing with you entirely too much this evening."

Brian smiled woozily at Parker. Reba smiled back at him.

Cheyenne, sensing a fight from her mom, said to Parker, "I think she wants one more dance with you, Parker, and then Mom, you really do need to go home and get some sleep."

Parker rolled his eyes and handed his head to Cheyenne. "Well, fine. C'mon, Reba." He led her onto the dance floor.

"Must be love," said Cheyenne to Brian, trying to lighten the mood.

"Or a persistent rash," said Brian. Cheyenne looked puzzled, put the dragon head on a chair, and went back in the kitchen to help Barbara Jean.

Outside, Kyra was about to walk back to her mom's when she saw a drunk Brian getting in his car.

"Oh, no you don't," she said, and pulled him away.

"I gotta go back to the motel. I have to be up at dawn to shoot."

Kyra looked at the sky. "Hang around for a couple more hours, then, and you won't even have to go to bed."

"I gotta get some sleep," mumbled Brian.

"Your motel is clear on the other side of Houston. By the time I got you there I'd have to drive you back. Let me call Dad and see if you can crash there on his couch for a couple of hours."

She dialed Brock's number on her cell and made the arrangements.

When Kyra dropped Brian off, Brock was waiting at the door in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. "Come on in, Brian, buddy. The couch is right over there."

Brian looked around, weaving as he walked. "So this is the bachelor pad, huh? The love nest? Bow-chicka-bow-bow and all that? You have any booze?"

"All out. What time do you want me to wake you?" asked Brock, wanting to get back to sleep.

"Somehow, I'm not so sleepy anymore," said Brian. "I want to talk to you about Reba." He sat down on the couch.

Brock raised his eyebrows. "I thought you came over here to crash."

"I thought I did, too, but you said some things to Reba this afternoon that I thought were very mean. And now that I see your face I remember that you made me mad."

"Why do you care what I say to Reba? She's in love with Parker."

"Because Reba is a different woman. She's not like anyone else. You can't treat her like any other woman." Brian was still slurring his words, but his eyes and his hands made up for it. "She's like a great, magnificent, wonderful…"

"…perfect…" said Brock.

"No, no, you said that this afternoon. She's not perfect, but she's got flaws you can appreciate. She's like a queen. Everything she does is for some great reason. She is so much her own person."

Brock smiled and nodded his head. "That she is."

"Are you still in love with her?"

Brock winced. "No; that's over."

"Barbara Jean thinks you are," said Brian.

Brock rolled his eyes. "I know Barbara Jean loves to romanticize," said Brock.

"Yes, she certainly does," said Brian. "May I have a drink?"

"I told you, I'm fresh out," said Brock.

"But back to Reba. Everything flows from who she is as a person. She's not your typical arm candy, not Reba."

"I guess Parker likes the queenly types. He appreciates people who seem important," said Brock.

"Parker?" yelled Brian and then got up and went over to the window. "Parker appreciates Parker. You know who he reminds me of? My boss, Mrs. Chaswyck. They're cut from the same cloth. Poorly woven, but with flashy print so no one will notice."

"Yes, they do seem to go together, don't they?"

"So why did you bring Barbara Jean and me into all this?"

"To get even with Reba," said Brock.

Brian put his face inches from Brock's. "I swear if you insult her, I will lay you out flat."

"Go ahead, it couldn't be any worse than staying up all night listening to a drunk babble," said Brock.

Brian backed down,sighed, and walked away.

"Chaswyck is just using you like she uses me and Barbara Jean and everybody else. She has everyone thinking she's such a great humanitarian but she treats her employees like dirt," said Brian.

"Yes, I would not like to be on her bad list. If she can use what you've got, you're fine. Otherwise, watch out."

Brian pointed at Brock. "Exactly. And I know her better than most people. Did you ever hear about her arrangements in Chicago?"

"Arrangements?"

"How about Las Vegas? Atlantic City? Or how about Atlanta? The business deal that went down there could completely drown her, but I've never wanted to lose my job," said Brian.

Brock's eyes got wide. "You have dirt on Chaswyck?"

"Photos, video, audio."

"How would you feel if I wrote the story?" said Brock.

"You?" asked Brian.

"Chaswyck has a nasty story on Van plus some photoshopped pictures."

"So that's why you're in this. It's not to get revenge on Reba. It's to save her!" said Brian.

"But you know, Brian," said Brock, "If I tell my source, you're through at In Cahootz magazine."

"I'm getting to the point that I can't stand it anymore," said Brian. "The world needs to know who Chaswyck really is. It's my duty as a reporter and an American citizen to write the story. I'm not doing a story on the wedding; I'm doing one on Chaswyck!"

Brock grabbed his laptop, pulled up a new Word document and said, "We'll do it together. Okay, shoot."


	7. Chapter 7

**Reba – Houston Chapter 7**

Once the story was finished, it was close to four AM. Brock called Barbara Jean to take Brian back to Reba's house so he could get started on the video set-up. There was still the façade to keep up for the magazine until the real story came out. Plus, they'd be able to give Reba and Parker a unique wedding gift: a documentary video that would thankfully not be aired on the Internet.

Barbara Jean pulled up in her little VW Beetle convertible with Reba asleep in the passenger seat. "She really did have too much to drink," said Barbara Jean to Brock. "And she can really hold her liquor. I've never seen her drunk. Have you?"

Brock grinned. "Once before."

"I thought the night air would revive her, but she's still out. Think she needs medical attention?" asked Barbara Jean nervously.

Brock walked over to Reba's side of the car while Brian got in the back seat. "Red," he said into her ear, "Can you hear me?"

"Go check on the kids, Brock. Make sure Jake didn't fall out of bed again and tell Kyra to return Cheyenne's sweater before WWIII breaks out."

"Okay," said Brock softly. To Barbara Jean he said, "She's fine; just still in a buzz. Could you take her home?"

"Sure," said Barbara Jean and then gave Brock a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just a little sad," he said, looking at Reba. "I just don't think he's good enough for her."

"Neither do I," said Barbara Jean, "But then who are we to judge?" She got in and drove off with Reba in the front and Brian in the back.

The sun was just coming up over Reba's fence when Brian said, "How about a dance?"

They had wandered into the back yard after Barbara Jean had dropped them off.

"No music," said Reba.

"Then I'll hum," said Brian. He started "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

"Slower," said Reba.

Brian slowed to a crawl and deftly took her around the yard in an easy box step.

"Funny how wine can give you the feeling that you've had an entire night of sleep in just a few minutes," said Reba. "That nap I took in the car completely refreshed me."

"I'll drink to that," said Brian and poured them both yet another glass. "The sun is up," he commented, drank some wine, put his free arm around Reba, and began to dance again.

Reba's cell phone chirped "Why Haven't I Heard From You?" from the pocket of her sweater, which was lying in a chair next to the kitchen door.

Reba lifted her head off Brian's shoulder. "Is that my cell?"

Brian stopped dancing, took another sip of wine and said, "Sounds like it."

Reba heard it again. "Wait," she said, and took another sip. It rang again. "It's probably Parker. I'd better get my apology ready." She floated over to the chair, but it stopped ringing.

"Ahhh," she said, turning back to Brian with relief. "It stopped."

Brian walked over to her. "Reba, you look dazzling."

"I feel dazzling," said Reba, her eyes sparkling.

Brian looked lazily into her eyes. "You can't marry that man," he said.

"Parker?" Reba smiled and held up her glass to the light. "I'm going to."

"But you're so different than he is."

"Opposites attract."

"No, I mean different as in…more. You're more rounded, more complete, more complex than Parker. Parker is all about money, influence, and power. You are more of a thinker, Reba. I don't believe Parker can hold your interest for long. Your active brain won't stand for it."

"You haven't known him long," said Reba.

"To know Parker for five minutes is to know him well, unfortunately," said Brian.

"Hey, don't talk about my future husband like that," she said in an ironically small voice.

"I don't think you'll go through with it," said Brian, coming even closer.

"Really? Show up at the Community Church about two PM tomorrow. I mean today," she said. She looked at Brian. "I think your documentaries have turned you into a snob," she said.

"How can I be a snob? I have no money, power, or influence," he said.

"You are an intellectual snob," she said. "Which is harder to prove, but it's the worst kind. You think your ideas are better than everyone else's. You believe that anyone who has money, power, or influence of any kind is automatically a bad person. You, Brian, are a bigot. An intellectual bigot."

"A bigot? Me? Now, wait just a freakin' minute…" He began to scowl until she was only three inches from his face.

"The time to make up your mind about people is never. Every person has a story, Brian. You just have to be patient and let it come out."

He dropped the scowl and his face took on the look of adoration. Reba was too drunk to notice.

"You are something else, Reba," said Brian.

"What else, Brian? I'm not any different than any of the other women on the Pediatric Aids Board or the Symphony Guild."

"Yes, you are, Reba."

"Oh, so you know them personally, Mr.Bigot? You've dated all of them before, have you, Mr.Bigot?"

"Stop calling me that and you know I haven't."

"Then you can't possibly say I am like them because you don't know them. There are quite a few women just like me in the upper social circles of Houston. You should get around more."

"In the upper class? Me? No, thanks."

"See? You're thinking with your mind. You don't know those people with your heart. You seem to be living too much in your head these days, Brian. I remember days when you didn't."

"That's mighty hypocritical coming from you, Mrs. Soon-to-be Parker. When's the last time you let loose?"

"Well, I guess I could say tonight. Although wine never affects me, but I haven't gone to a real party except for a benefit in months and months."

"Jake sure knows how to throw one. I just thought it was a little odd on the eve of your wedding," said Brian.

"Then you are thinking too much again, Mr. Bigot."

"Stop calling me that, Reba," said Brian, getting irritated.

"Why, does it actually make you feel a real emotion, Mr. Bigot?"

"Stop it, Reba."

"Does it make you realize I'm not perfect? Because I'm not acting all chaste and virginal on my wedding eve, Mr.Bigot?"

Brian was getting angry now. "I mean it, Reba, stop-"

"See, I thought a film maker would be able to accept human differences and imperfection. But you can't really feel anything or know anybody until you realize that nobody's perfect…" She trailed off and looked away, realizing she had just paraphrased Brock's words to her.

Brian stepped closer. "Reba, you are…"He searched for the word. "Magnificent," he finished.

Reba was stunned and blushed. "Me? You obviously haven't seen me scrubbing toilets, which I do often thanks to Jake the Sprayer." She turned around to walk into the house. "It's late; we'd better…"

But Brian wasn't finished. "You have this glow about you that permeates everyone and everything in your path."

Reba stopped at the door. She was rooted to the spot, intoxicated with his words, but she was afraid to turn around.

Brian kept on. "This fire, this glow shows in your eyes, your hands, your voice, the way you carry yourself, every little movement you make. It comes from deep down inside you where you have all this energy and radiance and love banked down in there like a bonfire or a…a…a supernova."

Tears formed at the corners of Reba's eyes.

She turned slowly around. "So I don't seem to be…too perfect to you?"

Brian approached her and held her arms. "No, no, Reba, you are flesh and blood. You're full of feeling and fire and flaw. But that's why you're so amazing! You can pull all those warring characteristics off like a queen."

Reba was turning to putty in his hands, and her tears began to fall down her cheeks.

Brian wiped one away. "Have I hurt you? You're crying."

"No, no, keep talking, keep talking."

Brian looked at her eyes,her lips, and remembered all those sweet kisses they shared. Then he let go and looked down. She was getting married in a few hours. "No, I'm finished."

Reba frowned, a little ashamed herself, but not willing to admit her part. "What's the matter? Has your brain taken over again, Mr.Bigot?"

"Don't you think it's a good thing, considering?" said Brian. She walked past him and her hair brushed his cheek. The smell and feel of it almost made him pass out.

"No, Mr. Bigot," said Reba.

"Okay, really stop it," Brian said, more roughly than he intended.

"Yes,Mr.Bigot," she said, and walked to the middle of the backyard, not really noticing where she was heading.

"Is that really how you see me?" asked Brian.

"Of course…" began Reba, but then Brian grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a volcano of a kiss from which she didn't want to surface.

Brian, however, broke for air. "Golly," said Reba, and he absolutely had to have another taste.

He went for it again. This time Reba was overcome and broke away to lean her head on his chest. "Golly, Moses, what is happening to me?"

Brian had to keep readjusting his arms to keep her from sliding right to the ground.

"Reba, I have to tell you something," said Brian.

"Wait, don't tell me; I've got the shakes all of a sudden," she said breathlessly.

"I have to; I have to. You don't think this could be love, could it?"

"No, no, it absolutely couldn't be," said Reba.

"Would it be bad timing?" whispered Brian in her ear.

"Horribly bad timing, but anyway I know it's not, it's just that…oh my goodness it feels like my insteps are just melting away…"

"Reba, you're so wonderful…"Brian murmured.

"Oh, Brian, we are acting insane…"

"Out of our minds and into our hearts…"

Suddenly, Reba reached down and turned on the hose, grabbed it and shot Brian full in the chest. He was about to get angry when she held the hose over her head and doused herself completely, laughing and giggling, unaware of how her catsuit now clung to every bit of skin that was previously camouflaged.

Brian fought to gain some sort of control, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be successful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Reba –Houston Chapter 8**

Around six AM, Brock decided to go over to Reba's to check on her. He knew she'd had far too much to drink and he wasn't sure he could trust Barbara Jean not to take pictures of her while she was drunk. It wasn't that Barbara Jean would do it to be mean. It's just that Barbara Jean's idea of appropriate and most other people's idea of appropriate were wildly different, especially modest, private Reba.

When he walked in, Barbara Jean was still there, doing some light cleaning. They said hi and Brock started up the stairs.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Barbara Jean.

"Going to check on the patient," said Brock.

"Oh, no you don't. She's marrying Parker today at two. And besides, she's not in the bed."

"I thought I told you to make her get some sleep!"

"Now, Brock, you know yelling gives me a tummy ache unless I'm the one doing the yelling."

Brock took a deep breath. "Okay, BJ; where is she?"

Barbara Jean pooched out her lower lip. "She's in the back yard with Brian playing with the hose. And I was going to ask him out. Now she's spoiled THAT one for me, too. Maybe I should move to another city. Men used to fall all over me until I hooked up with Peaches out there. Now I'm like the jolly dumb blonde." She stalked out of the house and took off in her VW bug.

Brock went into the kitchen and looked out the French doors to the back yard. Brian was just scooping up a limp Reba in his arms and coming toward the door.

Just then, the front doorbell rang. Brock ran and opened it.

"Parker!" said Brock. "What are you doing here? Groom's not supposed to see the bride before the wedding!"

Parker stepped inside without Brock stepping back. He was frowning and looking around. "I could ask you the same thing," said Parker.

"I'm always over here, like it or not. Remember, I have kids here."

"None of whom are up at this hour," said Parker. "I've been calling Reba but she doesn't answer her cell or her land line. Where is she?"

Parker walked toward the kitchen, but Brock stepped in front of him. "Parker, if you know what's good for you, you'll leave right now."

Parker narrowed his eyes."What have you done?"he said.

"I haven't done anything. But there are certain circumstances that might appear – um, inappropriate – if you take it the wrong way…"

Just then, Brian came through the back door with a soaking wet Reba, who had her arms around him and was crooning away singing "Whoever's In New England."

Parker's mouth opened and stayed open. A still woozy Brian stopped. "Hello, Parker!" he said cheerily. "I have saved your bride from slipping on the grass and twisting her ankle. You can thank me later. I need to put Sleeping Beauty to bed."

Brock said, "First door upstairs on the left."

Parker glared. "Hi, Brockie!" said Reba in a sing-song voice. "Hi, Parker," she said in a mock-serious voice. She turned her face to Brian, who looked at her with a smile. "Hello, Brian-ie Bear!"

Brock winced and looked at Parker, who was about to blow. Brian took her up.

Brock looked at Parker. "I can almost promise you nothing happened," said Brock. "When she wakes up, she won't remember any of this. She did this once before when we were dating. The water hit her and she knocked right out."

"You can almost promise?" said Parker. "Oh, that's real encouraging, thanks for that. Why in the world did we stay so late at that party? She never drinks that much."

"Trust her, Parker. Reba is good for her word."

"But I can't just pretend I didn't see this. I mean, it looks like they…"

"That may be what it looks like, but Barbara Jean was here in the house and they were just messing around with the hose…"

"I don't care; it's the way it looks-"

Brian came down the stairs and Brock could tell Parker was about to sock him in the face, so he punched Brian in the stomach. Brian went down on both knees, and then rolled on the floor.

"Hey, why'd you do that?" said Parker. "What right have you?"

"She's the mother of my kids, that's why," said Brock.

Parker straightened his collar and stalked outside to the front porch.

Brian looked at Brock. "What did I ever do to you?"

"He's really mad. I thought I'd do less damage."

Brian coughed. "You did enough." He came up on one arm.

While the men were mulling the circumstance over, the top of the storage bench in front of the window between the kitchen and the den lifted up just slightly, not so anyone would notice. Kyra was taking in much-needed air and smiling at the interesting turn of events.

Around ten, Jake came down the stairs fully dressed in a tux but looking a little worse for the wear. He came very slowly and headed for the kitchen. Feebly he said to himself, "Mountain Dew; I need a Mountain Dew."

"Pssst!" said Kyra from outside the back door. "Jake, take a ride with me."

"A ride? I can hardly walk without barfing and you want me to ride?"

Kyra looked him up and down. "What happened to you last night? Did some idiot give you beer?"

"No; I had like ten Red Bulls…"

"Okay; that's worse. Dude, you could have gone to the ER. Don't do that."

"I've learned my lesson. But I can't ride."

"We have to have absolute privacy. I have some highly incriminating information and I'm trying to decide what to do."

Jake frowned. "Why are you asking me? You never need my help."

Kyra sighed. "This is different. This is Mom. C'mon, I'll buy you a Mt. Dew at the gas station."

Jake walked out the door and got in the passenger seat of Kyra's vintage beaten-up 1978 Datsun 280Z. "Just please," said Jake, "Don't go over the dip at the end of the driveway at racing speed…"

She did. He opened the car door and threw up on the street.

"Nice," said Kyra. "I should rub your nose in it like a puppy so you won't be such a bonehead next party."

"Don't worry," said Jake. "I never, ever, want this feeling again. Now, what's this about Mom?"

Kyra told him what she saw and heard.

"Are you sure you didn't dream it?" asked Jake.

Kyra said, "Dream it? I climbed into an uncomfortable storage bench specifically to spy. How could I possibly go to sleep there?"

Jake began to turn green. "Okay, I've heard it; take me home or I'll ruin what there is left of this ancient upholstery."

When they got there, Brock was back. Kyra walked in saying, "She can't marry Parker after that. Apparently, she doesn't even like him anymore the way she was carrying on with Brian. If she marries anyone, it should be Brian. But my gut says she should stay single. Both those guys have baggage."

"As if she doesn't," said Jake, nursing his Mt. Dew.

"Dad!" said Kyra, looking guilty.

"What's all this about your mom and Brian?"

"Apparently," said Jake, eyes still half open, "She thinks they have something going even if nothing happened. All I care about is losing this horrible feeling. I'm going back to bed. Wake me when I turn from green to pink."

"Oh, no you don't; not in a tux. Sit at the kitchen table and put your head down. Did you have some beer,son?"

"Nossir, just too much Red Bull."

Brock looked at Kyra for confirmation. She nodded.

"We've done the safety talk, Dad. He won't do it again."

Brock slipped the Mt. Dew out of Jake's hand. Jake made a whining sound. "I have something else that won't make you crash in two hours." Brock got ice cream out of the freezer and Tums out of the medicine cupboard. He added milk, a little salt, and poured the shake into a glass. He presented it to Jake.

"Give it twenty minutes. You'll feel like a new man. But if I ever see you like this again, I will force feed you Epicac. Got it?"

"Yessir," said Jake, and sipped. "This isn't bad."

Reba entered the kitchen in her lavender tea-length dress, pale as a lily and squinting at the sun.

"G-good morning everyone," she said with fake enthusiasm. "Isn't it a great day to get married?" She held onto the kitchen counter and poured herself some coffee.

She steadied herself with the counter again and sat down gingerly at the kitchen island.

"What's the matter with your eyes, Red?" asked Brock.

Her eyes simply refused to stay open. "Brock? What are you doing here? Go away. And I have this watch I found in my robe. Anybody recognize it?""

"It's not mine. I'll be heading home soon. I had to make sure the kids were ready for you."

"Thanks, but we'll manage. Jake, go put on your tux."

"But Mom, I already did. Why can't you open your eyes?"

"I must have written too many thank you notes yesterday. I just can't seem to get them to come unglued.

"Uh," began Kyra, "I don't think it was thank you notes. Maybe too much water from the hose."

Reba's eyes shot open. "The hose?"

Brock grinned and nodded. "Now they're open. Jake, you think I might fix myself one of those?"

"Okay by me. Mom?"

"Please take the blender outside," said Reba. "For some odd reason, it hurts my head. Usually I enjoy the comforting sound of a blender making a marguerita or a daquiri. Funny."

Kyra sidled up to her mom. "Not as funny as what Jake said I dreamed early this morning. But I don't think it was a dream."

Jake and Brock, who was grinning, went outside with the ingredients and the blender.

"Do you like my dress, Kyra?" asked Reba without enthusiasm, almost as if from a script.

"It's stunning, Mom."

"It feels oddly heavy this morning…" said Reba. She put her head down on the counter.

"Would you like to hear my dream, Mom?" said Kyra.

"Do you think you could possibly keep your voice below a scream, Kyra?" said Reba.

"Okay," said Kyra, whispering. "From my old bedroom window, I thought I saw you and Brian shooting water at each other with the hose. And he had you so wet that you looked like your catsuit was just black paint on your body. And then you fell in his arms and kissed him."

Reba sat straight up. Kyra cocked her head and looked at Reba. "And he kissed you back! And then he swept you up in his arms and took you to your room!"

Reba swallowed. Kyra continued. "And then I got worried because you looked dead, except that you were sort of singing."

Reba's nose wrinkled. "Singing?"

"Yeah," said Kyra. "But I went to look in your room to make sure you weren't sick or anything and when I got there, guess what?"

Reba looked as if she was about to be hit. "What?"

"He was gone. He had already left."

"Well of course he was gone. He never was in my room. You did dream it."

"Well, I'm sure glad it was a dream," said Kyra, raising one eyebrow, "Because if it wasn't and I heard the minister say, 'If anyone has a reason these two should not be joined as one speak now or forever hold your peace,' I just wouldn't know what to say."

Reba narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't."

Kyra shrugged. "Dad says it was a dream, too."

"You told your Dad this?"

"Well, not verbatim, but you know Dad; he picks things up pretty quickly that have to do with you."

"Kyra, if you so much as-"

Van walked up. Reba turned around. "Mrs. H., Cheyenne said she wanted one last look at you before the wedding, but she needs to leave for the church now to make sure the flowers are all there."

Reba walked toward Van and took his hands. "Van, I am so happy you are here."

Van smiled. "Thanks, Mrs. H."

"Van," she said, "I'm really, truly sorry I'm a control freak."

"You're not really a freak," said Van. "You just care a lot. To the point of mania sometimes."

Reba gave him a hug. He went to wait for Cheyenne in their car. Brian walked in wearing a suit and carrying his digital recorder, which he slid into his pocket. Reba was physically startled to see him.

She gave him a weak smile. Kyra stared at him.

"Morning."

"Yes, it is," said Kyra without a smile.

He walked toward Reba, who walked backward to avoid him, and then looked at Kyra.

"I'm going; I'm going. Only remember - it's already 1:45. We should be at the church right now."

Kyra left to ride with Van and Cheyenne.

Brian smiled at Reba. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, fine," murmured Reba, unconvincingly and sat back down at the counter.

""We sure put away some wine last night," said Brian., sitting beside her.

"Lucky for us it doesn't affect us at all."

"That was a great party last night," he said. "Jake has a gift; he should go into the business."

"Oh, that's all I need," said Reba. "Although I had a great time too."

"I especially enjoyed the very last part," said Brian, raising his eyebrows.

"Why especially the last part?" asked Reba, turning to look at him, beginning to panic.

"Well, you know…"said Brian.

"Oh, the hose…"said Reba.

"Yes, the hose," said Brian.

"Brian," Reba said, turning to him and putting her hands on his arms. Could he explain why he had that puppy-dog look on his face? Could he tell her about what happened during those blank hours of last night? Did she really want to know? "Brian-" she was beginning to feel sick. Something was very wrong…

"Oh, Reba, honey, what can I say about last night? What can I say to you, honey?"

"Don't say anything and definitely don't call me honey." She stood up and turned away.

Brian took a deep breath. "So you're really going to marry him."

Reba frowned, still turned. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Okay, I understand. But no regrets about last night."

"No regrets?" said Reba, spinning around. "Why should I have regrets?"

"Well, Reba, really, we shared some things…"

"What things?"

"You want to hear it? That's kinda kinky."

Reba was close to yelling, but her voice was so shaky she couldn't manage much more than a squeak. "No, I'm telling you; I do not remember anything about last night. What happened? I have to know. No, wait-" She cut him off. "Just tell me what time it is."

"It's five til two," said Brian.

"CCraap!" said Reba.


	9. Chapter 9

**Reba: Houston, We Have a Problem Chapter 9**

Brian smiled at Reba with mooney eyes. "I can tell only because of the clock over there. I seem to have lost my watch."

Reba closed her eyes. "I can't tell you how sorry I am to hear you say that," she said with a dead voice, pulled the watch out of her pocket, and sat back down at the kitchen table, a sick look on her face.

Brian went toward the den as Brock was walking into the kitchen from the back yard carrying a shake.

Brian looked hopeful. "For me?'

Brock shook his head. "For Reba. But Jake's got the hang of it now. Go outside and ask him for one of the same." Brian did and closed the door.

Brock looked at Reba, who had her back to him but was obviously terribly distraught because her head was in her hands.

Brock knelt down in front of her and took one of her hands off her face to wrap it around the shake.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's a vitamin shake. Jake made it just for you to help with your hangover."

"Hangover?" said Reba, as if he'd just told her she had cancer. Then she burst into tears. "Oh, Brock; I've done the most awful thing to you."

Brock frowned and chuckled. "I kind of doubt that."

"It is," said Reba, taking both his hands. "You have to know. I've broken all my vows, I've-"

"What vows, Reba? We've been divorced for over seven years. Do you have a fever?" He felt her head.

She brushed it away. "No, no, I'm not sick, but you have to hear this. I have hurt you and you need to know so I can know how we go on after this."

Brock got right in her face. "Reba, you're talking crazy. You must still be a little drunk. Where do I factor into any relationship you have? Aren't you confusing me with someone else? Parker maybe?"

Reba's eyes shot wide open. "Parker!"

"Great guy, Parker." Said Brock. "Very high morals. Very healthy portfolio."

"Oh, my stars: Parker. I have to tell him."

She got out her cell phone and dialed his number.

Brock said, "Well, by this time I imagine he will know what a big deal he made out of nothing earlier this morning…"

"He was here _this morning_?" said Reba, looking stricken, but Parker answered. "Parker, hi; I know it's bad luck but I have to see you before the wedding… What? No, I didn't get it. I'll listen to it on the way to the church. Meet me in the drive-up on the side instead of the back."

Reba said, "Brock, I know this is extremely awkward but can you drive me to the church?"

"Friend to friend, I'd be honored," said Brock and pulled his car up for Reba to get in.

As soon as they took off, she said, "So Parker _was_ here this morning?"

"Um, yes," said Brock.

"And so were you?"

Brock nodded.

"So what was the box office take, huh?" said Reba sarcastically and put her head back in her hands.

Brock motioned to the shake he had put in the cup holder. Reba just shook her head and pulled a tissue out of her purse to dab her eyes.

"As long as I live I'll never forget how you tried to help me pull myself together today, Brock."

"You doing great, Red. Hey, how'd you like the wedding present? I didn't even know if you got it."

"It was very thoughtful, Brock. And sweet. That was such a great bar."

"Yeah, we had some good times."

"Didn't make much money…" said Reba.

"No, but back then, that didn't matter to us."

"No kids, no grandkids."

"No alimony," said Brock.

Reba turned to Brock. "Brock, I know I've always blamed you for our breakup. Well, I mean, you did the most obvious part."

Brock didn't say anything; he just sighed.

Reba continued. "But I really wasn't supporting you emotionally when you were depressed. I didn't know what was the matter with you, but that's no excuse for not being gentle. You were ill and I made it worse. I'm sorry, Brock. I really am sorry."

"Thank you for that, Reba. It means a lot to me to hear you say that. It doesn't excuse me for my affair with Barbara Jean, but it does make me feel like now you understand some part of my illness. Both of us have come a long way since our divorce."

Reba's lower lip trembled. "Nope; I haven't. I think I have done some back-sliding. Instead of becoming more forgiving and more understanding, I've become more rigid and demanding. And now that I've done…this, whatever it is, I just don't know what to do or where I am. I don't know anything anymore. I'm lost." She dabbed at her eyes again.

Brock glanced at her and then looked back at the road. "Red, that sounds very healthy. Especially for you."

They got to the church and Brock opened the door for Reba. Cheyenne and Barbara Jean ran up to her. "Mom! You are so late –oh my gosh, have you been crying? Come on, I have to fix your makeup. To the bathroom! Dad, go home!"

Reba said, "I don't have time for that, I need to listen to this message from Parker."

"A message from Parker?" said Brock. "I gotta hear this."

Barbara Jean yanked the phone away from Reba. "Put that thing on speakerphone- you'll mess up your hair, too. Cheyenne, just get some powder and mascara and we'll do her here." She gave the phone back to Reba. Cheyenne rummaged in her tackle box of cosmetics.

"Ya'll," Reba protested, "I need to listen to this message."

"It can wait fifteen seconds," said Barbara Jean.

Cheyenne dabbed powder on her face and Barbara Jean put mascara on.

Barbara Jean finished the mascara and grabbed her camera. "Now you're ready for pictures." Brian came outside with his digital recorder.

"Oh, Dad," said Cheyenne, about to go back in the church, "A Mrs. Melissa Chaswyck called and said she read your e-mail and will call you on your cell in about an hour."

"Oh, boy," said Barbara Jean, looking at Brian, "There go our jobs."

"So why are you still taking pictures?" asked Reba as she pressed buttons on her cell phone.

Brian said, "Wedding present," and smiled.

Reba looked at him, frowning, a little puzzled.

Parker's voice rang out over the speaker. "Reba, I think both of us know the implications of what you did last night. If your intentions are still to marry me, I deserve a full explanation before the wedding. Call me ASAP."

About that time, Parker walked up. "What are you doing letting all these people listen in on a private matter?" he said.

Reba sighed. "Hello, Parker. Yes, they are people they're family. Parker, they've seen me at my best and worst. They know it all anyway."

"Well?" Parker stood there in his tux, waiting. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Parker, I want to explain myself to you. Really, I do. But I can't. I have no idea why I did what I did or even really _what_ I did…" she glanced at Brian, who smiled a little.

Parker visibly bristled. "That makes no sense."

"You are absolutely right," said Reba. "You are a fine, good man. You don't deserve a wife who can't explain herself, who doesn't know what she's doing or where she's going. You'd best just say good riddance to me."

Parker said, "Is that all you have to say? Good riddance?"

Barbara Jean punched Brian. "Say something, you idiot," she whispered.

"Hang on," said Brian.

Parker put his hands on his hips. "Reba, on the night before you get married, you have an affair with another man and your answer to my questions is, 'I don't know?' You should be sick with guilt. You should be on your knees begging for my mercy."

Reba flinched a little. Brain made his move.

"Parker, it might interest you to know that what you think of as an affair consisted of two really good kisses, both of which I thoroughly enjoyed, a water fight, and me carrying her up to her room and depositing her into her bathroom and closing the door before she even removed her shoes. After which I returned back down here to you and Brock which you probably remember since he socked me before you could do it."

Brock interrupted, "I remember."

"Shut up, Brock," said Reba and Parker together.

Brian continued. "Parker, if two kisses and a piggyback ride are your idea of an affair, you may need to go back to fifth grade sex ed."

Parker frowned. "You mean that's all that happened?"

Brian held up his hand in the Scout sign. "Scout's honor." He turned to Reba. "And I indeed was a Boy Scout. Nothing happened."

Reba slowly turned to Brian and stood up. "Why? Was I such an ugly hag? Was I so nasty and grungy and OLD??"

Brian held up his hands as if to shield himself.

Parker said, "What in blue blazes do you care…"

Brian said to Reba, "No, no, Reba; you're gorgeous. You know that. I was ready for…whatever. But you are engaged to another man. And mainly, you were snorting drunk. And there are rules about those things. Gentlemen's rules."

Reba smiled at him. "Thank you, Brian. And Barbara Jean, I apologize to you, too. I know you and Brian…well…" She looked at Brian. "You two could have a good thing. I hope I didn't spoil the possibility."

Barbara Jean said, "Reba, you were toasted. You were stressed and you boozed it up. Hit the bottle. Drowned yourself. Got snockered. Had an affair with Jack Daniels."

Parker stepped toward Reba. "So the consensus is that you were drunk. Reba, we've made all these wonderful plans. I still want a life with you. I love you. If you promise never, ever to drink again, I will forget last night ever happened."

Reba smiled at Parker tightly. "Thank you, Parker, but I really don't think I can do that. There are some things about that old Jack Daniels that I sort of like. Not going overboard, of course, but he's great with a little mint and water on a hot summer evening."

"You are choosing booze over me?" said Parker incredulously.

"No, Parker, honey. Not booze, just a freer, more forgiving way of life."

"But if you hadn't gotten drunk, none of this would have happened."

"Apparently, nothing did. You believed the worst of me," said Reba.

"Well, you believed it, too!" replied Parker.

"Yeah, I did. But that's the thing. I somehow would think that a husband would think the best of his wife until she was proven wrong. I was guilty until I was proven innocent," said Reba.

Brock interrupted from the sidelines. "Guilty until proved innocent? That's un-American, Parker!"

"Shut up, Brock," said everyone.

"I would think you would have thought better of me than I did," said Reba.

Parker shook his head. "Oh, there's some of that pop psychology mess. Why can't you just think what you think and be done with it?"

"You like things cut and dried, Parker. But I am very messy. My life is messy, my family is messy. You need things neat and straight. I'm not the woman for you."

Cheyenne ran back outside. "Dad, why did you tell that woman she could come to the wedding when _you're_ not even supposed to be here?"

"What woman, honey?" asked Brock.

"That Chaswyck person. She said to give you a message. She said to tell Dr. Hart, 'I read your e-mail and you win.' What did you win, Dad?" she went back in the church before Brock could respond.

Brock lifted his eyebrows. "The great Melissa Chaswyck from In Cahootz magazine is here? That makes this marriage of statewide importance." He smirked and rolled his eyes.

But Parker's entire countenance changed. "Wow, Chaswyck is here? That is so thoughtful of her to take the time to come." He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, Barney Fife style. Then he walked over to Reba and took her hands. "Come on, Reba. Let's forget last night and move on from here. It's after two. Time to go get married!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Reba Houston Chapter 10**

_Last one, ya'll!_

Parker clasped Reba's hands in his. "Let bygones be bygones."

"Yes, I agree, Parker, so…goodbye," said Reba.

"But, Reba, you can't just throw away what we have," said Parker.

"I'm not throwing it away, Parker, I'm using it for good. I would make you miserable. Deep in your heart, you know that. I've been living a charade for the past six months. I love helping people, but the balls and the schmoozing and the butt-kissing is not me. And Parker, you are a great guy. You need a wife who is passionately in love with you."

"And ... you're not, are you?" said Parker.

Reba came close to him and straightened his lapels.

"Tomorrow when word gets out, there will probably be at least a hundred women lining up outside for the chance to date you," said Reba, smiling.

Parker looked at her with sad eyes. "But not one of them is remotely like you."

"And for that, you need to thank God," said Reba. And she gave him a kiss on the cheek. He left.

Brian said, "Well, there goes Parker. Hey, you know, I forgot the first rule of reporting. I never got his last name. Hey, Reba, what was his last name?"

"It's- " From inside the church, the wedding march started. "Barbeque and beans!" yelled Reba and they all ran inside – Reba, Brian, Barbara Jean, and Brock.

Reba peeked in the door to the sanctuary, which was completely filled with about five hundred people. Her hand flew to her face. "What in holy heaven am I going to tell them?"

Brian stepped forward. "Look, Reba; I got you into this mess. I am going to get you out. What do you say we get married?"

Brock struggled to keep the anger down, Barbara Jean looked betrayed, but Reba suddenly looked very calm.

"Thanks, Brian, but…no."

"Not again. Rejected for the second time around? Okay, this time I think I get to ask why."

"Because I know Barbara Jean wouldn't like it. You eventually wouldn't, and I'm even a little worried whether I could take it or not," said Reba.

Both Brock and Barbara Jean were visibly relieved.

Reba took one of brian's hands. "But Brian, I owe you so much. You helped me…I don't know…come back to myself."

"You had left?" asked Brian.

Barbara Jean grabbed Brian's hand. "Don't feel so bad, Brian. Sometimes leftovers are better than the gourmet meal."

Reba turned back to the door where Brock was standing. "I've got to think what to say."

"You won't have to say a thing. You don't owe anyone an explanation. You're Reba. They wouldn't dare question your morals or reasons. And if they do, you get to hunt them down and beat the crap out of them." said Brock.

"That's the old Reba," she said. "This Reba faces her mistakes, admits them, and moves on. As Tracey Chapman says in her song, I am not going to chase people around and waste my precious energy."

Just then, Cheyenne came in. "Mom, we saw Parker and he told us what happened. Van is about to go in and make a quick announcement. You can just sneak out the side door there and go home. I will hold all your calls and-"

Reba cut her off. "Van will do no such thing. I refuse to be gotten out of anything and I refuse to lie home and waller. I will make the announcement myself."

Van, scowling, hitched up his pants. "I never liked that fella anyway."

Cheyenne rolled her eyes.

Reba opened the door, ready to speak, but suddenly the sight of all those people made the words stick in her throat. "Ah…um…" she said while the organ continued to play. "Excuse me, excuse me," she said, "Could you please stop that music?"

The organ ceased playing. "Thank you all for coming to the church this afternoon instead of going to the golf course or the tennis courts or… um… anyway, there's been a slight, um, glitch in the ceremony. I have made a complete a- uh, donkey out of myself lately, so my fiancé and I, well, my ex- fiance I should say…we have decided we'd better call it off…"

Brock smiled and said, "Good old Red."

Jake smiled and said, "Thank you, Jesus!"

Kyra smiled and said, "I think I now know what it means to have a religious experience."

But at the door, Reba had run out of words. "Because… ah… um…" She whispered to Brock, who was right behind her, "Brock; Brock, what else should I say?"

"Twenty-seven years ago I cheated you all out of a wedding by getting married at the courthouse…" said Brock.

"Twenty-seven years ago I cheated you all out of a wedding by getting married at the courthouse…" parroted Reba.

While Reba was speaking, Brock took Cheyenne's hand and pulled her wedding band off it. "May I borrow this, Sweetie? Just a loan." He handed it to Brian. "Hold this."

Then he went back over to Reba, who was finishing her recital and needed more words.

Brock provided them. "Which was very bad manners,' he said.

"Which was very bad manners," Reba parroted to the congregation.

Brock continued feeding her lines. "But I hope to make it up to you by now giving you that actual original marriage ceremony that we couldn't afford so long ago."

Reba, still panicking, had not caught on yet and still parroted, "But I hope to make it up to you by now giving you that-" And here two things finally dawned on her. It happened instantly, as if a great light were suddenly thrown on her life. She could see the love all around her – her family, her friends, her co-workers – even Brian and Parker – and then there was Brock. He was her mate. How could she have been so confused for so long? He was the one she really, truly loved. He loved her. And he had loved her enough to be patient and wait for this one shining moment when she was ready. So she continued the speech Brock was feeding her, with only a few alterations.

"…That actual original lovely simple wonderful marriage ceremony that we as poor, foolish, but so-much-in-love children couldn't afford so many long, long years ago."

By this time, Reba was in tears. "Oh, Brock," she gasped, turning to him, "Are you sure you can stand me?"

"Are you sure you can stand _me_?"

"Brock, I'll be forgiving and gentle this time."

"And I'll talk when you want to talk."

"Why did it take us this long?"

"Who cares?" Brock turned to Brian. "Best man?"

Brian nodded. Reba turned to Barbara Jean. "Maid of honor?"

"Matron of honor, dear; remember Brock," said Barbara Jean, grabbing a few flowers from an arrangement on a table.

Brian said, "We look like members of a shotgun wedding party."

Cheyenne and Van looked at each other. "Who are we," said Van, "Chopped liver?"

Cheyenne nodded and put her hands on her prissy hips.

Brock looked at Van. "Get over yourselves. Brain and Barbara Jean need this. You two don't. Now stop jawing and get the music started again!"

Brock and Brian went around to the back and came out beside the minister, who had been given the heads up by Cheyenne and Van. Barbara Jean did her best imitation of a runway model. Reba followed by herself, scarcely able to conceal a huge grin that kept threatening to spread across her face.

Kyra, on the front row, was congratulating herself for single handedly kicking Parker out of the picture. Jake was chewing on a smuggled Milky Way bar which unfortunately had partially melted in the pocket of the rented tux. And Barbara Jean was already making eyes at Brian even as the minister began the ceremony. Brian reciprocated mighty quickly.

And Melissa Chaswyck, editor of the Houston edition of In Cahootz magazine, just happened to bring her camera and snapped several unauthorized photos during the ceremony.

But the one that made it onto the front page of the next edition was the image she captured of Brock leaning into his new old wife, about to kiss her, and Reba looking into his eyes drowsily, almost as if drugged by her desire, as her mouth opened to receive the lips she had needed for over seven years.

Back at Reba's house after Brock and Reba had left for Tahiti, the rest of the family watched the wedding video.

"Oh, my God," said Cheyenne. "Barbara Jean, why did you let me wear that lipstick? I look like The Undead."

"I thought it was very Barbarella, very retro," said Barbara Jean.

"When are we going to eat?" asked Jake.

Kyra swatted him with a magazine. "Geez, what is your problem, tapeworm? We just ate, like an hour ago."

Brian laughed. "His problem is he's sixteen. Trust me; that boy will not be full until he's twenty-one."

Cheyenne said, "Here it comes, ya'll!"

They were all quiet as they watch the kiss.

Kyra screamed. "Gag! She gave him tongue! Oh, gag!"

Jake said, "Nonononononono my eyes are burning my eyes are burning I did not just see that…"

Van said, "Oh, that's so sweet when old people pretend to have the hots for each other."

"Pretend? Pretend?" said Barbara Jean. "Toots, if you think that's pretending, you need a lesson. And I think I'll demonstrate with a volunteer. Let's see. I choose…Brian!" And she planted her face right on his. Brian at first fought, but after a couple of seconds he got into it.

Kyra, Jake, Cheyenne, and Van yelled, "Get a room!"

Brian and Barbara Jean stopped. Things were quiet for a minute. The DVD was over. Jake said, "So when are we going to eat?" And they all pounced on him.

THE END!!


End file.
